


you put their emptiness to melody

by LeanMeanSaltineMachine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, M/M, Mentions of brainwashing, POV Finn (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeanMeanSaltineMachine/pseuds/LeanMeanSaltineMachine
Summary: Finn doesn’t know what to expect now that he’s outside the First Order - he doesn’t have much to compare it to. But he thinks it will be better, and he is reassured of that by others seemingly more knowledgeable than him.(He owes them all. They all owe him. How much until it’s repaid? Can it ever be repaid? When they are no longer locked together in a network of amicable debt, will they fall apart?)--A character study of Finn's time in the Rebellion after the events of TFA, told in a series of snapshots. Rated T for mentions of blood and fighting, but no explicit descriptions of violence or death.
Relationships: Finn & Rey (Star Wars), Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 25
Kudos: 74





	you put their emptiness to melody

Finn doesn’t know what to expect now that he’s outside the First Order - he doesn’t have much to compare it to. But he thinks it will be better, and he is reassured of that by others seemingly more knowledgeable than him.

(Better phrased as: General Organa welcomes him, reminds Finn his words are a treasure in her eyes; Poe’s smile could warm the interior of Hoth and they share memories of their escape, swap tales of the sweat and blood of soldierhood; a kind council veteran walks slowly and ambles along his words as he tells Finn about the unspoken rules of confined humans trying to be free.)

(He owes them all. They all owe him. How much until it’s repaid? Can it  _ ever _ be repaid? When they are no longer locked together in a network of amicable debt, will they fall apart?)

He takes refuge in his quarters (the room is larger than he thinks he has a right to; it is one given to him as an officer of the Rebellion, and yet Finn would be more comfortable on a thin cot and surrounded by the breaths of his company). He goes through physical therapy and he sits in front of a holotablet to be taught in more official terms how to lead. And despite Finn’s determination and joy to be put to work for something he believes in, it still feels like a second escape attempt when he closes out the program and drags himself to the nearest nonsapient life.

There are many things Finn has taught himself - and one of them is appreciating the depth of nature. He runs his palms along the tall grasses and feels it brush against his calluses. The dirt sticks to his pants and there are green streaks on his clothes. The wind ties him with the soaring birds and groaning trees; he studies the play and warmth of the light on his prone body. Everything of the place soaks into his bones and teaches him pieces of what could make him whole. He can’t assemble them together, not yet, but now Finn knows they’re there. He knows there’s that possibility.

It’s beautiful.

And really - who could have taught him this? Who could have let him know to even ask?

\--

They move bases a lot. Finn grows weary of it sometimes, the constant goodbyes and hellos. He worries about abandoning yet another home to become a building to be overgrown by the planet He’s told that once they win these places will hold people again, or will be part of an overarching story of success told in museums. It feels like an answer smoothed over time by hope and repetition. That’s fine. He recognizes a mantra when he sees one, and adds it to his collection.

The Resistance finds a home among a stormy planet deemed Llelia V. It’s not like Finn hasn’t been exposed to such phenomenon before. He’s felt the cool damp of mist on his skin while dodging computerized blasts, known the panic of a downpour blinding his sight during a simulation. But it’s  _ different _ now that he’s free. It’s like some kind of poetry that his first natural storm is with these people he’s half-chosen, half-run into and poached. The rolling thunder and crackling light flashes are more celebratory for Finn than any parties thrown for any number of reasons.

He takes that back one night after Poe comes back from a mission that took him too far away. His shoulders try to drag the rest of his body to the floor for some rest that Finn is afraid won’t heal the sadness and anger in Poe’s eyes. Both the ship and Poe are smoking; Finn puts out a small fire under the guise of patting Poe’s arm. “Glad you made it,” Finn says.

“Me too, buddy,” Poe replies with a tired, pasted on grin. They drink together and remember the feeling of treasured company and momentary safety.

They move bases.

Finn won’t miss the way the rain seeped into his pores and made everything damp; he won’t miss the violent lightning that reminded him of blue and red melting the snow around three desperately fighting figures. He won’t miss the threat of cyclones and their resulting damage (or bodies), he won’t miss praying to the Force for the pilots who had to fight to even leave the atmosphere.

But he will miss the beauty of the place.

Purple skies, rolling clouds, rainbows to bless new graves and sundogs before a storm. Rain that fell in sweeping, rolling curtains and sang lullabies for sleep. Thunder that provided a base for the drums that sounded from celebrations of life.

Finn’s legs feel stronger now, and now when he trips on rain-soaked pebbles he catches himself with a tiny, unseeable smile.

\--

Time passes. Finn is not having a good night.

He’s not sure what started it. Could be the darkness of his room, leaving him alone. Could be the echoes of blaster shots in his ears, ringing through the cold metal of the base long after the guns have been cleaned and put away. Could be that today someone Finn had never seen before walked by, and Finn could’ve sworn it was Slip.

It was probably that last one.

Regardless, the night cycle lights seep into his lungs and tie him to the bed before one great push of inertia has Finn up and stumbling out into the corridor.

He isn’t used to having windows. Transport ships have that kind of luxury, it turns out, and it has Finn staring in wonder and scurrying past in equal measure. Tonight, he’s drawn to the stars as he always has been.

Small points of light, each of them roiling points of flame held together by mass and gravitational pull. Somewhere in the void between those lights were even more stars, ones that couldn’t be seen, ones that even so glimmered and warmed their corner of the universe. It was incredibly lonely. Finn felt like something in him mended.

In the latest of the war - if their tiny force of a Resistance against a behemoth of a First Order could cause something so large - the fleet had drawn close to a black hole. The fleet was close enough to leave everyone tense, close enough to see the light sucked in and the planets orbiting the center becoming stretched, but all accounts said they should be safe. So Finn just watched, went to meetings, went to pieces of training, went to the mess hall - went to all the things he should, and otherwise tried to assure the heavy feeling in his gut that they were  _ fine. _

The black hole was - is - beautiful. It takes up the entire window even now, sprawling, creating a horizon, tendrils of light either escaping or crawling and grasping desperately towards the circling comets and planets.

If Finn is being poetic, he could describe how many things of his life can be described as that black hole. The First Order, trying to suck everyone and everything into its maw; Rey and Poe and the Resistance, as irresistible as the massive gravity well before him; even Finn himself, drawing those around him into something inevitable and tragic.

He really hopes it wasn’t the last one.

Correction: he  _ knows _ it isn’t the last one. But sometimes, when his brain gets tired of fighting, when his batteries run low, Finn can only let the thoughts wash over him and then put them aside as falsehoods that feel like truth. (He has a lot of experience with those.)

Finn’s comm beeps and he feels his brow furrow. It’s not the emergency frequency, but it  _ is _ Rey, so Finn opens it with the same urgency.

“I was just calling to say -- Finn! You aren’t supposed to be up!”

Finn can’t fight the smile that takes over his face, nor can he hide it - but he has no wish to, so it’s just as well. He walks the few steps back to his room, whispering until the door  _ shwips _ closed behind him. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Have you tried to?” she asks suspiciously. He can feel her concern and Force probing from across a galaxy.

Finn sighs, his smile slipping to something more sardonic and reassuring. “I haven’t been up for too long,” he says in return.

He gets a mouth twist - Rey isn’t pleased - but she does let it slide, and for that he’s grateful. “Luke has been showing me how to milk those creatures on D’Qar,” she says instead. “They don’t like us very much.”

“Did you try to ride one?” he asks with amusement and a touch of reprimand. She rolls her eyes.

“They’re  _ birds _ , Finn,” she replies as if that answers everything, or really anything at all. (It doesn’t.) “I just think they don’t like things that are their height or taller.”

Finn pauses. “I have several questions.”

Rey’s smile turns fierce and brilliant, mischief and affection shining in her eyes. “I would imagine so.”

They talk long enough that they both begin to yawn more than speak. The companionable silence of sitting together on a holo is paired with the tired buzz of their comm systems. They'll need to be charged for a while, Finn knows, but he can’t bring himself to mind the hassle with Rey in front of him. Rey, who knows how to be quiet in the dark with him. Brave Rey, running and leaping in bounds nearly unfathomable, plasma flashing blue as his back burns in the snow. She had been beautiful with her hair more out of her buns than in them, lazy and carefree in her comfort as she wove grass together in tiny braids. Finn had taught her that, two bases ago, after Iolo had taught him.

“You should sleep soon,” Finn says with the usual pang of grief that hits him.

“Only if you do,” she says as per their ritual.

Finn smiles back, the second step in their dance, and her eyes glint knowingly in surrender. They say their goodbyes three times, tell each other to _be safe for_ _kriff’s sake,_ and sign off. Finn lays down in his bunk to stare at the dark ceiling above him and thinks about the light of inevitability.

It sounds worse in theory, he thinks. If this is what he orbits, if Rey and this fight against something evil and looming and once all he ever knew will be the end of him, he thinks it will have been worth it.

\--

It is three weeks later, and Finn is unprepared for the wild winds that rock his ship. His eyes are wide behind the helmet visor and his hands tighten on the controls as a reflex. The laugh and encouragement that filters through the comms is a relief and yet his eyes roll, this reflex one born of fondness rather than fear.

“Steady there buddy!” Poe’s voice reassures him with an audible smile. Finn can feel his warmth through glass and steel, through the air and bitter winds between them. “Hands loose on the controls; give her some room to do her thing.”

Finn grumbles something incoherent even to himself, but does so nevertheless. The corner of his lips twitch up in a nervous smile as another ship pulls up next to him, and the pilot grins before moving ahead to where the squadron waits.

“Back in formation everybody!” Poe directs. “Let’s try this again.”

The imagined warmth of Poe’s grin moves from Finn’s cheeks to his stomach, where it settles and diffuses to the rest of his body. Poe in leadership is beauty in motion. Finn could watch how his feet shift to hold his weight like he’s making room to hold the gravity of the planet as well forever, how Poe’s eyes narrow and soften at the same time for a stern reminder to take care of yourself, the Resistance needs everyone at their best.

But he can’t, because right now, Finn is  _ flying. _

He takes a deep breath, eases into place, and holds steady as the roaring blizzard tries to shake them into submission to cower inside the base. He thinks of the home waiting for him, and the crooked tilt of Kare’s smile after a job well done, and tries again.

//

Back at base, Finn and Poe stand where the open hanger doors expose the racing winds and blinding snow to smile at each other. It feels shy, new all over again, and yet for all that there is only comfort. There are many things Finn fears: failure, re-brainwashing, the latrines after beans have been on the menu for three nights in a row. Finn doesn’t fear Poe. He doesn’t know that he ever could.

“You did some nice flying out there,” Finn offers, then grimaces. The awkwardness he feels is brushed away with a genuine smile from Poe that could light up a city.

“You too, Finn,” Poe replies. His smile softens to something that feels like it’s meant just for him, onlookers be damned. “You’ve come a long way.”

“Yeah, well,” Finn says, shuffling his feet and glancing at Poe, “I had a good teacher.”

Poe huffs a small laugh and looks down at his own feet for a moment before looking back up, and the fresh determination in his eyes alarms Finn before Poe speaks again.

“You were willing to learn,” Poe says firmly. Finn’s world narrows to the laugh lines that crinkle the corner of Poe’s eyes and the way his sweaty hair drops snow to the shoulders of his jacket. “You can’t teach that.” He pauses. “We’re lucky to have you.  _ I’m  _ lucky to have you.”

Finn blinks and stares, then responds with a tiny, tiny smile, the only thing he can manage past the singing in his heart. “Yeah, I know,” he teases, before softening his expression to match Poe’s. “I’m lucky to have you all too. To have you.” And he meets Poe’s eyes.

They just look at each other for a moment that stretches into more. It feels bright and warm against the whirling storm outside. It feels like something precious.

They both speak at the same time, stop, start, and then laugh. Poe motions for Finn to speak first.

Finn hesitates, then moves until their noses brush. Poe’s eyes are warm and dark; his breath mingles with Finn’s as it steams between them. “Can I kiss you, Poe?” Finn asks. It comes out nearly breathless. He can’t bring himself to mind.

“By all means,” Poe breaths, and then they’re kissing.

Will Finn ever find a word that suits Poe as well as ‘warm’? He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. Right now his mind is on Poe Poe Poe, Poe is kissing him, Poe’s hand is freezing the back of his neck, Poe is moving even closer to angle his lips against Finn’s.

It ends far too soon and Finn feels dazed as his eyes open. It helps that Poe looks as dazzled as Finn feels.

Poe breaks the spell between them with another smile, another laugh, a hand that slips from the back of Finn’s neck to cup his cheek. “We should do that again,” Poe whispers.

Finn can’t help but agree, so they do.

\--

The future, the present, it stretches out before him in the heat waves of the desert. Dinners with groups at tables who welcome Finn as himself, not Finn as Hero of the Resistance. Nights drinking to commemorate those who came before, and who are forgotten in name but remembered in spirit. Dawns spilling color into the sky before mornings with caf and meetings, afternoons with trainings and adjusting to the fact Resistance food isn’t new anymore, evenings with games or quiet. Finn blinks. Red and gold sands sweep by; he researched their names and characteristics but knows them better by touch. Red is coarse chalk, good for graffiti on the side of the base, while gold is soft. Sometimes he runs the grain through his hands to feel tiny rocks like silk slide between his fingers and down his arms.

He was the one that helped them find their base, this time, huddled in a canyon, delightfully hidden by a curve in the river. The far side of the canyon cuts into the sky and jumbles down to the water in oranges and reds and tans. Finn supposes the cliffs are taller than legend, though the thought makes him laugh a bit, even smirk, cocky as he is. Perhaps he is spending too much time with Poe’s - his - pilot friends.

What’s truly laughable is the First Order thinking they could have hidden this forever! That they would hide away the burbling rapids that spill into pools and eddies perfect for rolled-up pant legs after a long day, that they would mark villages with warm bread and art on the walls as something to burn. That they would paint Finn a traitor and a rebel when others before him must have seen this beauty contrasted with blood pilled and decided  _ no longer. _ Others before him who found the horizon and then kept walking.

He is nothing new, he thinks, he can’t be, and that is the worst part. His soul knew there was more out there and it stole Finn right out from under them. He watches the cool red sun paint shadows on the rock and shakes his head fondly.

He is in awe of the universe. The comparable softness of birds, of new and dying light. The shriek of a blizzard or a parent chasing a threat from its nest. Finn is a soldier and he has so much heart. The  _ universe _ has so much heart.  _ Splendor. _ To think he had never known the word.

**Author's Note:**

> i am cherrypicking canon and having a GREAT time!!! hope you enjoyed this trip back to post-TFA era <3
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments (singular emojis, emoji strings, "i loved this!") 
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions (clarifications, questions about my headcanons, questions about the timing/time frame)
>   * Constructive criticism (did I miss a comma? how do things flow? con crit welcome!!)
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply due to energy and time constraints. If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


End file.
